


A Pawsitively Meowvelous Day

by Marzue



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: (because I didn't figure that bit out), (there's a bit of everyone because I love them all), Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Animal Instincts, Animal Transformation, Bruce Wayne Loves Children, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Couch Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Ensemble Cast, Family Shenanigans, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Good Parent Alfred Pennyworth, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Listen everyone this is SOFT soft, No I will not explain how, Sleepy Cuddles, Soft Bruce Wayne, bruce is a cat, so many cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-23 01:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30047682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marzue/pseuds/Marzue
Summary: Bruce is turned into a cat.Somehow, this is everyone else's problem.(AKA, I was asked to write fluffy cuddles, and I ran with it).
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Comments: 12
Kudos: 194
Collections: Gotham Square (Batfam Discord Fics)





	A Pawsitively Meowvelous Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sElkieNight60](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sElkieNight60/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Everybody Wants To Be A Cat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29877903) by [sElkieNight60](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sElkieNight60/pseuds/sElkieNight60). 



> Many many thanks to Gem and WG for betaing!!! (I added on a whole second chunk afterwards, so all mistakes are my own folly).
> 
> Also, a special thanks to everyone who encouraged me as I wrote this beast of a fic. It definitely grew longer than I had planned, but thank you to everyone who put up with my silly questions and hyped me up as I powered through it.
> 
> And Selkie- I hope you enjoyed this fic! It ended up taking WAY longer than expected, but I hope the length makes up for that <3 :smek:

Alfred had seen many things in his time on Earth, from space invaders to surly social workers (and he vastly preferred the former to the latter). He’d be able to count on one hand the number of times in recent memory he’d been genuinely shocked, and he’d be _damned_ if anyone were to see it on his face. (He was _very_ proud of his poker face, the scourge of many a card tournament. Yes, very proud indeed).

Though, being told that the man he’d cared for since childhood, whom Alfred had raised since he was a mere boy, was now a cat who was being shoved into his arms, if his face slipped in a moment of panic… well, no one had any proof.

He appraised the tiny cat in his arms, scrawny, fluffy, and currently panicking from being so roughly handled moments prior. His coat, a rather fetching shade of black, was broken up by splotches of white, centered around his front paws, chest, and head. As Bruce settled in his arms and peered up at him, his tiny tail swishing slowly as he blinked at Alfred. His _son_ was a cat.

This was not ideal.

On further analysis, Bruce seemed to be on the cusp of adolescence, small and fluffy without the lean musculature of adulthood that cats possessed. 

Though small, he was in good health, responding to gentle attempts to check for injuries. Pliant upon the medical counter, Bruce seemed content to lay there as Alfred ran gentle hands over his ribcage, spine, and belly. 

“Master Bruce,” Alfred started, feeling quite foolish talking to a cat. “I do not know how much of your former intelligence you possess in this form, nor do I know if you can understand me in any capacity. That being said, there are some house rules that I insist you follow.” 

Bruce blinked at him slowly, then leaned forward to give a small lick to Alfred’s nose. 

Alfred prayed his scandalized “Master _Bruce!_ ” did not travel through the house.

* * *

This whole event came, of course, with several side effects, some more obvious than others. Though Bruce seemed to possess most of his human faculties (being able to respond to verbal prompts, tapping on a square when prompted, and making eye contact with whomever was talking to him), he seemed to also have many cat instincts that weren’t _dangerous_ , but made for rather confusing interactions. 

Beyond several stereotypical cat behaviors (such as an inclination towards hissing when any slight violation of his personal space occurred, and a love of boxes), Bruce developed several _habits_ that took some time to get accustomed to. One of his newfound favorite pastimes was to hide beneath the numerous couches and chairs scattered around the Manor, and pouncing at their feet, shoes and all. It was as amusing as it was stressful, if not only for the fact that Bruce’s kitten body was small enough to punt easily across the room. In a house full of battle-hardened vigilantes, the instinct to kick was as plentiful as it was hard to suppress, and a vigorous round of googling tips to stop Bruce from attacking their feet ensued. The purchase of several cat toys seemed to quell a majority of the incidents (though if Bruce disappeared for too long, extreme caution was to be exercised). 

Bruce could often be found lurking on top of bookcases and high shelves, hidden away as he stared down at anyone entering the room (though, on second thought, that was Bruce’s normal behavior, not out of the ordinary at all). 

Of most note, however, was Bruce’s new interest in grooming (and aversion towards large bodies of water, as was found after the Bath Incident), Bruce spent the large periods of his time not spent snoozing or sneaking on people hiding away, grooming himself. During this time he became _very_ moody, hissing at anyone who attempted to pat him or even ventured nearby. 

And the Bath Incident was _not_ to be spoken of again, on penalty of an Alfred level punishment. 

* * *

This whole ordeal also resulted in the newly formed habit of kitten Bruce following him around constantly, which Alfred found equal parts heartwarming and frustrating. 

Kitten Bruce had a rather unfortunate habit of walking right into the only spot that would trip Alfred up, and it was sheer paranoia and reflexes alone that prevented him from tripping over Bruce, or worse, kicking Bruce accidentally. 

Bruce also, he discovered, had a general lack of common sense (but that wasn't new), and greatly enjoyed taking a (cat) nap in front of the oven as it was on. The habit was both irksome and dangerous, so Alfred went through great troubles to break the habit...to no avail. 

“Master Bruce,” he gently reprimanded, one evening where he found cat hair (cat hair!) on his formerly _clean_ kitchen floor. Bruce barely looked up from his sprawl across the floor, warm and content where he was. Alfred gently nudged Bruce with his foot, though his scoldings were barely effective on Bruce as a human, let alone a cat. 

_Or_ , he noted as Bruce nearly tripped over Alfred’s well polished shoes, _as a rambunctious kitten_.

Of course, Alfred was afraid of tripping over Bruce in such a small state, so relocation was necessary.

He lifted Bruce into the air, mulling over several different locations that would be sufficient in entertaining a rowdy kitten, when he paused. Under his fingers, he felt a slight rumbling. 

Purring. Bruce was purring.

Well, Alfred couldn’t just abandon Bruce after he did _that_ , now, could he?

“Very well then,” he said to the small cat curling up in his arms. “I do suppose a break would do my old knees well.” He had a lint roller at the ready in his room, some lounging would be a well accepted treat. Especially when Bruce was too cuddly to worry about being improper.

Experimentally, he rubbed his thumb gently over the space between Bruce’s ears. The rumbling increased, and Bruce closed his eyes in content bliss as his purring filled the room.

What a treat indeed.

Soon after, Alfred sat in one of the cozier lounge rooms, with a crackling fire and his favorite reclining chair (with superb lumbar support). He sat there, radio crackling as it played soft tunes. It brought back fond memories, memories of a simpler time when he did not have to crane his neck to look his son in the face, of afternoons spent prepping dinner while the soft scratch of Bruce’s pen scrawled nearby. 

Bruce sat on his lap, kneading gently at the quilt Alfred draped over his legs. He reached out to grab his newest crochet project, stored in a drawer close by for his evenings off. Humming along to the music, he quickly found his crocheting groove, expertly looping the thread on his hook. 

Though Bruce’s kneading slowly trailed off, his purrs didn’t, and he laid there on Alfred’s lap like a loaf, content to simply enjoy his company. Alfred paused in his loopings, stroking a hand over Bruce’s back gently. Bruce arched his back, a clear request for more pats, and Alfred quickly complied. 

* * *

As was a habit Alfred developed after years of bat-sitting, the entrance to the bat-cave was never to be kept propped open under any circumstances (after it was discovered that sometimes the bats _would_ , in fact, try to fly into the house). This led to an unfortunate evening where kitty Bruce snuck into the cave after someone (suspected to be Tim, though no accusations were made) left the door propped open for a short amount of time. Bruce ended up stuck downstairs as Alfred (and everyone else who went into the cave that day) was unaware that Bruce was down there.

Bruce, luckily, didn’t get himself hurt, as he spent most of his time napping on top of the bat-computer (which, despite their best efforts, overheated often), or scampering after the mice that sometimes resided in the cave. 

That is, nothing happened until Jason decided to crash the cave to use their workout area. Breezing in on his motorcycle, he surveyed the cave to make sure no one else was present (if all went to plan, and his schedule stalking was correct, no one should be in for at least two hours). As his gaze swept across the room, he saw no other living soul in the room (sans the bats sleeping above). Score. 

He approached the mats, ready to get in some time working on his core, when he paused. The soft sound of a creature shuffling, and Jason immediately honed in on where the sound was coming from.

There, perched atop a shelf, was a small cat.

Ooh, intriguing.

Jason had been informed of Bruce’s… ailment, of course. Alfred always took the time to make sure he was in the loop, even when he was on the outs with Bruce. He just had no idea how _small_ Bruce was. Bruce was TINY!

He grinned internally. Time to mess around with Bruce.

“Oh hi, Bruce. I barely saw you there!” Bruce mewed at him, and he smirked.

“Sorry, I don’t speak cat. Maybe I’ll take a crash course later, but my schedule’s packed right now. It’s packed with time to enjoy some Bruce-lecture free cave.” Jason’s eyes swiveled around the cave, before landing on the batchair, the pride and joy of Bruce’s cave setup.

Big, dark, imposing, and comfortable, it towered above everything and everyone in the cave, and, if the rumors were to be believed, cost a _fortune_ to be custom made. Bruce was highly protective of it, and horseplay around the chair was banned.

Therefore, it was the best thing to play on, when he was smaller and dressed as a traffic cone.

“Heh. Maybe I’ll take the chair. Put it in my house, use it as a coat rack. I think it’ll look nice reupholstered.” He paused, pretending to appraise the chair. Bruce’s ear twitched, but beyond that made no indication that he cared about what Jason was saying.

That was, until Bruce took a very purposeful glance to the chair, and tensed up, as though he was about to jump. 

Oh hell no.

Jason _sprinted_ towards the chair. He would NOT lose a race with a _kitten_ , for fucks sake (ignoring the tiny detail that the kitten was his adopted father, who possessed an above average intellect and was also MUCH closer to the chair in question). Sure, he was joking about stealing the chair, but this was more than that, dammit. His _pride_ was on the line!

He drew close quickly, gaining momentum as he darted across the cave. 

Unfortunately, his socks were not well suited to stop that momentum, and as he drew close, he barreled straight into the side of the chair, flipping over in a heap besides it (and it didn’t even have the _audacity_ to tip over as well, which was just the cherry on top of the embarrassment milkshake). 

Bruce sat atop the chair, completely unruffled by the sight of his son sprawled on the floor. He licked his paw, stroked his cheek, and chirruped at Jason’s pain ( _laughing_ at his own _son_ , how cruel, Jason lamented).

Jason was content lying there in his own misery, his pain, but the clack of Alfred’s well-maintained shoes disrupted his suffering.

“Ah, Master Jason, nice of you to drop by.” Jason raised his head to greet Alfred, only to let it fall back to the ground at the elder’s sarcasm. 

As Alfred drew near, Bruce jumped down (landing on Jason’s stomach, which _ouch_ ) and innocently meandered over to Alfred, mrrp-ing and weaving between his legs. Alfred drew near, worriedly tutting over the state of Jason’s unfortunate flop, and Bruce sauntered back, hopping onto Jason’s chest.

He loafed there, tail swishing slowly, purring loudly, and Jason could almost forgive Bruce for laughing at his fall.

 _Almost_.

(Though Jason did get his revenge when, while he was sat upon a medbay cot receiving Alfred-mandated Care(™), he saw Bruce do a little stalking wiggle towards one of the bats closer to the higher storage shelves. 

Watching kitty Bruce get spotted and subsequently spooked by said grumpy bat almost made up for the giant bruise on his left thigh, that, if you looked at it from an angle, almost looked like a bat. Yay.)  
  


* * *

After that incident, Bruce was _strictly_ banned from the cave. He was restricted to the upper levels of the manor, which, now that he knew the fun that could be caused down there, meant that he _had_ to get back down there.

Soon, a large chunk of his time was devoted to a new hobby he developed that was best called “whining at whoever passed by his study in an attempt to go back into the Forbidden Zone”. 

The only cure was to plop him in the vicinity of the nearest family member, where, no matter what they were doing, gave him free range to go completely wild.

No one was safe.

Dick, of course being in his own city with his own responsibilities, was completely unaware of this, so when, while he was sitting in Bruce’s office to go over case notes on a cold case that he _suspected_ tied to a new string of crimes in Blüdhaven, he paid no attention when Alfred ushered Bruce to a couch situated close to the desk.

He did, however, notice when Bruce leapt onto the desk he had _carefully arranged all his notes on_ . Dick was able to save the delicate crime scene photos that would _not_ survive a cat scampering over them, but just barely, and he quickly picked up 

“Bruce, I’m sorry, but you can’t just walk over all these papers,” he softly chastised, but he gave a quick stroke to Bruce’s back and turned back to his documents, content to continue and leave the odd action in the past.

Bruce was not ready to give up.

As Dick settled back into his work groove, he barely had a chance to catch up to where he was before he had a lapful of purring kitten.

“Bruce, no. We can cuddle later, but I’m busy right now.” Dick once again picked up Bruce and set him on the couch, only to watch as Bruce immediately jumped off. Dick watched him suspiciously, but relaxed when Bruce merely brushed against his legs and twined around the legs of the chair. 

That is, until Bruce jumped back on to his lap, and stretched lazily before cuddling against Dick. Dick was almost tempted to let him stay in his lap (almost, but not quite). Kitty Bruce was eager to scramble his way onto the desk though, painful claws be damned (and really, that wasn’t fair, considering _Dick_ was the one who got hurt by that). 

“Not right now, Bruce.” Dick picked up Bruce once again and, instead of plopping him on the couch, marched over to a different seat a bit further back. He gently set down Bruce, 

“Bruce I know you understand me. I can’t play right now, so either stay on the couch or find somewhere else to play.”

Dick tried to be as authoritative as he could, but Bruce was the _Batman_ in the form of a _cat_ , the amount of authority one _could_ exert over him was negative (Alfred excluded).

That was not the end of Bruce’s tyranny.

Bruce eventually began meowing pitifully by his feet, looking for all intents and purposes as though Dick had never once in his life even glanced at him. Oh, how cruel Dick was, trying to get through _work_ instead of spending all day cuddling with Bruce. 

(Dick almost considered sending Bruce to one of his brothers, but the only one he was confident was in the house was Tim. Tim was allergic to cats).

Several hours, when Dick was confident he had a solid lead to work off of, he slouched on the couch, already planning to take a long nap. Bruce had taken to slumping pitifully in a corner a while back and seemed to have found a good spot to nap. However, now Dick found himself in need of some soft cuddles to offset the stress kitty Bruce caused in his life. A little payback would be nice too.

He approached slowly and made to pick up Bruce, but upon crouching down and placing his hands on Bruce, a hiss resounded through the room. Dick barely snatched his hand back before Bruce swiped at him, grumpily turning around and rolling back into his optimal nap position.

“Oh come _on_! NOW you want to be alone?” Kitty Bruce didn’t answer, but the satisfied flick of his tail told all that needed to be said. Dick hated payback. 

Though he really couldn't complain, as twenty minutes after he stretched across the couch to take a quick nap, he felt the gentle weight of a cat settle on his stomach. He refused to open his eyes and accidentally startle Bruce away, but the gentle kneading was comforting enough, and Dick let himself go to sleep, lulled by the warmth across his torso. 

* * *

Bruce being a cat was a bit weird, but in all honesty Tim barely encountered kitty Bruce, since he was allergic to cats. Tim was careful to keep the door to his room closed (he did NOT want to deal with the stuffed nose and puffy eyes that came with his allergies), but mistakes happened.

Mistakes in the form of his annoying younger brother who barged into his room to yell at him over eating the last yogurt then _refused to close the door when he left_. 

Thanks Damian.

Tim _would_ have closed the door, but it was _so far_ , and he was in the middle of a _very important_ project. 

Well, he was playing video games, but still. Very important. 

So focused was he on his work that he ignored the soft padding of paws coming into his room. He probably should have noticed the jangle of the bell they put on Bruce after one-too-many close calls (turns out a small black kitten is hard to see in the middle of the night, and easy to step on), but he was _busy_.

He did hear the small thump of Bruce jumping on to his desk, though. 

As he looked over, it took a minute for his brain to actually catalogue what he was seeing. A moment passed, a second moment, and he smiled at Bruce, giving his head a quick stroke.

Then his brain rebooted and he remembered he was _allergic to cats_.

“Bruce, you can't be in here!” 

He had to get Bruce out of here before his room became allergen zone 0, and he’d have to spend his afternoon vacuuming. 

He glanced around, as if allergy meds would manifest in his room, but to no avail. Shoot, he’d have to take care of Bruce himself. 

Pausing his game, he picked up Bruce, and quickly shuffled over to the door. He plopped Bruce right outside the door frame, and made to close it. Bruce simply flopped over the doorway. 

“Bruce, I can’t let you in my room. You know I’m allergic to you.” Tim never thought he’d tell his adopted dad he was _allergic_ to him, but hey. He didn't think he would be a vigilante, and here he was.

He could already feel the burn in his nose that indicated he’d be sneezing up a storm, but he couldn’t just _shut the door_ on Bruce.

Besides, Bruce was looking up at him with sad little kitty eyes and Tim, tragically, was a cat person.

He could already feel his resolve crumbling. He was weak against kitty eyes, and had to accept his fate. 

“Fine,” he said, and stepped over Bruce to go to the nearest bathroom and raid their stock of antihistamines.

* * *

Tim was content to turn down the volume on his game and sit there with Bruce on his lap, but even he had to gently push off Bruce to sit at his desk and do work. 

Bruce curled up for a bit, and napped on his bed, which was just _another_ chore on his growing list of things to de-cattify his room, but Tim ignored it.

He sneezed, and Tim internally sighed at the irony of it all.

Eventually, Bruce got bored of lounging around and began exploring Tim’s (quite messy, he’d be the first to admit) room. 

Bruce, eventually sat on the edge of his desk, batting at his pencils in their holder. Tim was content letting him be. 

Tim was less content when Bruce started to shove things off his desk. Down went a pen, and a roll of tape, and Tim let it happen. 

That is, until Bruce swiped his mug off the desk. 

His collectible Star Wars mug.

His collectible Star Wars mug that _had coffee in it_.

Tim only stared dispassionately as the coffee seeped out, getting soaked up by the carpet. _Shit_.

He quickly scooped Bruce off the desk and clutched him to his chest, plopping him unceremoniously on his bed.

Alfred was out on an excursion with Damian (to acquire more of the oh so important yogurt), so he was alone in the house. He couldn’t just _leave_ Bruce completely alone, but he couldn’t keep Bruce in his room. He had a date with carpet cleaner, so Alfred wouldn’t ground him til he was 30.

Besides, he had to clean his room so he didn’t wake up sneezing. 

Oh, idea.

He shot off a text to Stephanie.

 **CurTim Drapery:** _Hey Steph_

**Stompanie Ground:** _what’s up timpany_

 **Stompanie Ground:** _tim-tac_

 **Stompanie Ground:** _timminy cricket_

 **CurTim Drapery:** _Bruce keeps getting into random crap, do you want to watch him for the day? Alfred is busy._

**Stompanie Ground:** _yES give me ten minutes. i gotchu timomothy_

 **CurTim Drapery:** _Ty_

* * *

Upon receiving text from Tim, Stephanie immediately dropped all the work she had for the day and got ready to pick up Bruce. 

Screw college, she could pull an all nighter. 

Well. Another all nighter. She already planned on meeting up with Cass, taking an extra couple hours off wouldn’t kill her (and the voice in the back of her head telling her that she should be responsible and _study_ was easy to ignore). 

She began driving over as quickly as possible, only pausing to shove flip flops on her feet. She was on a _mission_ , laced shoes were for people who had time.

Soon she arrived at Wayne Manor, and she still felt a secret thrill that shot down her spine whenever she keyed in the passcode to the gate and rolled in.

Tim wasn’t at the door when she rang, and no one else answered the door. After a moment, Stephanie poked around and found the place where they hid a spare key (in a hollow under the left bannister of the porch). She unlocked the door and, without further ado, slipped into the manor.

Even after years of working closely with the bat-vigilantes, the extravagant entrance of the opening hallway never ceased to amaze her. The luxurious carpets stretched in front of her, leading to a giant staircase that ascended to floors unseen. Expensive looking vases and paintings were artfully arranged along the walls, leaving a large expanse of _hallway_ to walk through. It was enough to make a gal jealous.

Steph, however, didn’t have time for jealousy, she was on a _mission_. She made a beeline for Tim’s room, barely sending a glance towards the exorbitant decor of the manor.

Her gut instinct was right, as she found Tim reclining on his bed, a small kitty perched upon a pillow next to him. _Bruce_ , her mind supplied, and she had to stop herself from rushing over to lavish him with pats.

 _Priorities_ , dammit.

“Heya Tim!” She leaned in the doorway, grinning as Tim’s eyes met her own (and Bruce’s little ears swiveled in her direction). “You called?”

Tim, in lieu of saying hello (y’know, like a _normal human being_ ), abruptly stood up. He swept Bruce off the pillow and shoved 

“Take him.” Bruce, none too pleased at being tossed, grumbled and tried to twist out of her arms. She struggled to keep from dropping him, gaining several new scratches and a newfound feud with Tim. Thanks for throwing her to the wolves, _Tim_ (or, to the cats, she mused).

Nonetheless, she powered through, and turned to Tim after Bruce grumpily settled into her arms.

“So. Where’s the cat carrier?”

The claw marks were worth the face kitty Bruce made. The ear damage wasn’t.

Bruce yowled the entire drive back to her apartment, hissing and scratching at the plastic carrier often used to shuttle Alfred the cat to and from vet check ups.

Stephanie _knew_ there was a soft bed in the carrier that Bruce could lay on, and some toys (even if the drive was short), but the way he cried, it sounded as though he had been abandoned. Probably to die, if his wailing were to be believed. 

Just in case though, she double checked that she grabbed the homemade cat food Bruce was being fed during the whole ‘turned into a cat’ fiasco. She didn’t want him to go _hungry_ , after all.

Upon arriving at her apartment, Stephanie messaged Cass to let her know what happened, and set out to prepare. Bruce was content lounging on the couch as she ran around the apartment, putting things up that might be dangerous for cats (no matter how intelligent the cat was). She also took the time to unpack the cat toys she pilfered from the Manor. 

He seemed mostly unresponsive to the cat toys (disappointing), but was oddly fascinated with the feather on a stick. She slowly waggled it in front of him where he curled up, watching as first his ears twitched towards the wand, then he slowly raised his head.

He stared, then took a flying pounce off the couch, narrowly missing her coffee table. 

The next twenty minutes were spent in a game of reverse cat-and-mouse, where Steph would hold the wand slightly above where Bruce could reach and Bruce would generally act cute.

The game only ended when Bruce accidentally jumped into the side of her couch and just sat there in shock. He curled up on the ground and refused to respond to subsequent prodding, so Steph sat there with a book, just waiting for Cass.

When Cass arrived, Bruce didn’t even glance at Stephanie before darting over, rubbing his side against Cass’s shin and purring. Loudly.

Ouch.

Cass’s arrival allowed for the momentary distraction needed for Steph to sneak into her room and uncover her _secret weapon_. She closed the door, utter secrecy required, since, tucked near the back of her desk, was a laser pointer. She snatched it and quickly pressed the button, checking to make sure it worked (it did), then shoved it into her pocket. 

Nonchalantly, she returned to the living room, where Bruce was in the process of converting Cass into a nap pillow. Steph caught Cass’s eyes and winked, before flicking the light to the side of Bruce. Midblink, he focused, tensing as he stared at the dot. Steph waited a second, then moved the dot to the wall closest to the couch.

Bruce stared at the wall, completely motionless, before he scrambled forward, swatting at the bright red dot that danced on the wall. 

Steph paused, and handed the laser to Cass. She needed to record this.

(The look of betrayal on Bruce’s face once he looked over and saw Cass handling the laser was also caught on camera. Score.)

Eventually, however, noon turned into afternoon turned into evening, and it was time to return Bruce to the manor. Cass volunteered to wrangle Bruce, so round two with the cat carrier was avoided (thank _God_ ). 

Bruce, in an act of utter spite, was a model passenger on the way back. He stood proudly in Cass’s lap, giving Steph a stink eye whenever she glanced over at him. What a brat. (That didn’t stop Steph from reaching over and stroking his head at every red light). 

Soon they arrived back at the manor, Cass swooping up Bruce while Steph gathered the supplies she had borrowed, and together they went up to the door. This time, Alfred was there to greet them as they approached, and Cass immediately set Bruce on the ground, and he darted away out of sight, presumably to have some alone time in peace. Cass greeted Alfred with a hug, and Steph slipped behind them to return everything she took.

As she returned Bruce’s cat food to its storage container in the kitchen, she encountered Damian, who was eating a bowl of yogurt with _intent_. As she made eye contact with him, he frowned, hunching over the bowl with a protective gleam in his eyes. 

Steph held up her hands in acquiescence and left without a word. Weird, but not completely unusual Damian behavior.

* * *

Damian heard much later of the cat-napping that had been Drake-sanctioned while Damian and Alfred left to go shopping (and stock up on his favorite brand of yogurt, the yogurt that had been _stolen_ by Drake, the fiend). 

He had only found out when Brown sent him a video of Bruce chasing the feather wand (and Damian hated to admit it, but his father was _cute_ ). Subsequent investigation (careful observation of Drake cleaning out his room, cross analyzed with the high rate of sneezing Drake was plagued with as well as the allergy medicine he was routinely taking) helped him determine the culprit. 

Once again, he found himself marching into Drake’s room. 

“I demand that you tell me what you did to father!” Drake startled, pulling headphones off of his head as he swiveled to face Damian. 

“What do you mean?” The confusion in his voice was legitimate, but Damian refused to allow himself to be tricked.

“Brown _kidnapping_ father right under your nose!”

“Brown kidnapping… Oh. Steph taking Bruce for the afternoon?”  
  
“ _Yes_ , Drake.”

“I just needed Bruce out of my room, he was setting off my allergies.” Damian glared at Drake, but to no avail, since he just rolled his eyes in response. _Drat_.

Damian huffed, before straightening his spine and turning on a dime, sweeping out of the room in what was (in his opinion) a rather dramatic spin. 

“Close the door!” Drake shouted as he left the room, and Damian paused to think about it before leaving it wide open. He couldn’t help but snicker at the muffled sounds of Drake cursing as the sound of walking then a door slamming echoed through the hallway.

Soon, though, Damian refocused, for he had work to do. The second phase of his plan was soon to start, and he needed to find Bruce. 

Arms laden with his sketch supplies, he went on a hunt around the Manor for Bruce. He searched high and low (checking the typical hiding spots of Alfred), but saw neither hide nor hair of Bruce (or rather, hide nor hair, since Bruce _did_ unfortunately shed. A _lot_.) 

Eventually, he did find Bruce, curled up on a comforter in a side room. Damian didn’t bother him, instead settling on the opposite end of the couch and setting up his drawing supplies down. Slowly, as to not disturb Bruce, he wiggled under a corner of the comforter.

So lost was he in his art, he barely registered as Bruce scooched closer to him, settling down next to his thigh. He paused for a moment, gently patting Bruce, and continued with his sketch.

Eventually, Bruce began to stir, turning and rolling atop the comforter. He pawed at Damian’s leg, huffing when Damian continued to scratch away at his sketchbook. He headbutt Damian’s leg, then clambered over it, pawing at the strings of Damian’s hoodie. Damian gently set him on the floor, and Bruce instead began to bite and claw at the laces in Damian’s shoes.

Damian, used to Alfred the cat, barely reacted, occasionally flicking his foot so the lace would flop (and Bruce would jump back before pouncing). The laces soon grew to bore Bruce, and he hopped back onto the couch, nudging at Damian until he looked at Bruce. 

Damian lifted his elbow, allowing Bruce to pass under them and settle on his lap. Once settled, Damian wrapped his arms around Bruce and continued to sketch. 

He, at last, finished his sketch, giving it a once over before nodding in satisfaction. Sprawled across the page, in the soft shades of gray and white that only a pencil could produce, sat a near identical recreation of Bruce as a cat, lounging on the comforter, curled up and snoozing. 

Damian was rather proud of how it turned out, and he sat there quietly, basking in the peaceful tranquility the quiet brought.

Eventually, he found himself nodding off, the warmth of the comforter and the gentle kneading of the blanket on behalf of Bruce causing him to feel drowsy. He curled up under the blanket, and fell asleep.

* * *

Bruce watched as Damian slowly fell asleep, gently purring and moving slightly as Damian shifted to be more firmly wrapped in the comforter.

Now was the perfect time to enact his plan, the one that he had been toying with for a while but was unable to enact. He knew all his sons were in the house (and, unless he was mistaken, Cassandra was staying for dinner) which meant that his _family_ was all under one roof (scattered as they were).

Though he had retained a surprising amount of his human self, his cat instincts were constantly screaming at him (and it was easy to indulge him, as embarrassing as he knew it would be once he was a human again). From play hunting, to darting around the Manor to burn off energy, he found himself constantly acting more catlike than he otherwise intended. One of the strongest instincts was his constant need to monitor his family (and everytime they left, he was barely able to stop the anxiety that wracked through him, secretly whispering that they were gone _forever_ ).

But no longer, for he had the perfect opportunity to get them all together, and fully appease his cat side. 

First on his docket was Tim, who he knew to be in his office grabbing a file. He quickly snuck into the room, waiting until Tim held a paper in his hand. He jumped forward, screeching, and watched as Tim startled.

“ _Jesus_ , Bruce!” He grabbed the paper out of Tim’s hand, not bothering to glance back as he sprinted out of the room. The thud of Tim’s shoes clomped behind him, so he knew that Tim took his bait, and altered his path. If his memories served him correctly, Jason was in the kitchen, eating a sandwich. 

He darted into the kitchen, and ran over to the stool Jason sat at, weaving between the legs as he meeped at Jason. 

(The sound of Tim shouting at Jason to grab him was his queue to dash off, before Jason tried to pick him up and put a stop to this.) 

He continued running, the asynchronous pounding of Tim and Jason’s gait firmly resounding in his ears.

He darted back to the side room where Damian laid sleeping, slowly considerably, and paced outside of the door as Tim and Jason got closer.

“What the hell?” Jason’s voice carried through the hall, booming, and Bruce hissed (he couldn’t quite figure out how to shush them, so that would have to do). He padded silently in the room, calm as could be, and Jason and Tim followed behind him. They noticed two things immediately, Damian sleeping and the open sketchbook.

They walked over to the sketchbook, silently as to not wake up Damian. So focused were they on Damian’s sketches, Bruce snuck out of the room, and walked over to the room where he knew Dick was holed up, and repeated his tactic, yowling until Dick was following him. He led Dick to Cass, and them both to the room where Tim, Jason, and Damian all resided in.

As all his children stood together in one room, Bruce delicately stood on his hind paws and bit at the remote controller, turning the television on. Now came the part of his plan that depended on luck. If all went well, they would decide to stay in the room, and his plan would be successful. He scampered away as the conversation paused, eyes swiveling to the TV (and the remote that had, apparently, fallen to the floor).

Thankfully, his children decided a movie night _was_ in order, and settled around the room in various chairs and blankets. A squabble ensued, a movie was chosen, and the lights were flicked off, and quiet conversation continued on as a movie softly played in the background.

Perched atop his shelf, all of his children together and safe in the room, Bruce settled down, purring contentedly. Sure, he was currently a cat (and waiting on someone to figure out how to turn him back), but all things considered, he was happy.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was VERY close to being titled "Amewsing Days and Purrfect Evenings", but the lovely Aki gave me this suggestion instead and I loved it so much.
> 
> Good dad Bruce has such a big part in my heart, and when Selkie mentioned Bruce being turned into a cat I couldn't NOT do something about it. 
> 
> As always, Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated! This was pure, uninterrupted fluff, so I hope it was something nice to brighten up your day! I hope everyone reading this has a wonderful day!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Big Floof](https://archiveofourown.org/works/30105921) by [XPsypher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XPsypher/pseuds/XPsypher)




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